


night one

by openended



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Hanukkah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first Chanukah after she died; it's worth spending with someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	night one

They make a supply run at Arcturus, taking the shuttle to the station because while Shepard knows Hackett would let her aboard even in a Cerberus vessel, not everyone else would be so friendly. The shuttle team is the most innocuous looking crew she could find and not wearing their Cerberus uniforms (and boy does Kelly look uncomfortable in civvies; she almost wants to take a picture).

Shepard sends them off with their lists - after reminding Garrus that the Illusive Man is paying for all of this, and that the Illusive Man is a _dick_ , and so he should in no way feel bad for buying the most expensive everything - and heads toward Alliance offices. Anderson said he’d forwarded her belongings there, care of Admiral Hackett. Thankfully, Hackett’s out and she doesn’t need to deal with that particular debrief.

The crate’s not much. She had most of her stuff with her on the Normandy, and Alchera was too cold to bother looking around to see if her favorite boots survived the atmospheric crash. Most everything is Alliance crap: medals and awards she didn’t feel like displaying (too many questions; besides, she still feels awkward being commended for her actions), uniform bits, and some gun mods. Amidst the pieces, she unearths the toy airplane she’s been carting around since she was a kid. She holds it up to the light: scuffed wings, broken propeller, wheels that never drove straight. She slides it carefully in her pocket.

There, in the very bottom underneath an N7 sweatshirt and a sketchbook full of terrible attempts at Sovereign, she finds her menorah. Her fingertips graze the metal, feel the wax collected from years of celebration, and she smiles. No way was she finding one out in the Terminus, and the menorah has been hers longer than she can remember ever owning anything. She stole it from Plum Street Temple the December she finally found a decent shelter, but paid it back in donations over the next ten years.

Her eyes light up as her fingers brush against a box. _Candles_. She sends up a prayer for this; she’d checked store inventories before docking, and no one on board had Chanukah candles, or even anything that could fake being Chanukah candles. She’d been close to asking Mordin for help.

She boxes everything up and has the crate sent to the _Normandy_ 's shuttle for transport. Her omnitool beeps at her, warning her of half an hour left before departure, and she decides to spend her time with the street vendors. If every race in the galaxy has managed to make something that tastes like Swedish meatballs, she bets that at least one of them makes something that approximates a latke.

She gets lucky with the salarians, who look at her strangely as she orders six and nothing else (“they’re usually a side dish, soak up the sauce” to which she channels every ounce of guilt she can into a glare, and the two cooks hurriedly give her three more for free, “for your trouble.”), and then meets everyone back at the shuttle. Garrus hands her the promised amp and shotgun barrel, and everyone else is equally loaded down.

Thane presses up against her in the shuttle, under pretense of it being crowded and preferring to stand for the short ride. She knows better, and leans into him, enough so he notices, not enough that everyone else will. They’ve been orbiting around each other toward _something_ since the Collector ship. A quick glance around tells her no one’s looking, so she lightly grasps his fingers. She feels the low chuckle in his chest and allows herself a smile.

"Come to my quarters tonight," she whispers when they finish unloading the shuttle. She checks her omnitool and converts the time. "Twenty-two hundred?" Close enough. A nod, and then he’s gone.

The chime rings exactly on time, and she lets him in. He notices the toy plane on her desk immediately - front and center, replacing the downturned photo - obviously an object of importance. “Siha,” the question is there in her name. He appreciates their time together, more than she will ever know, but the invitation sounded specific.

"Chanukah starts tonight," she says, gesturing toward the unlit menorah on the coffee table. "It’s the Jewish Festival of Lights," she explains at the slight confused tilt of his head, "where we celebrate the miracle of one night of oil lasting for eight." She knows he’ll ask about the historical context later, when he’s ready to understand it; they’ve discussed their religions at length, and she admires - if, to be perfectly honest with herself, a little terrified by - Thane’s strength and meditations on his own.

"Ah," he says, fascinated. "Drell have a similar miracle, with water." He steps closer to her, seeing the food and drink she’s set out, and committing the scripture engraved into the menorah to memory. "Need I do anything?"

"I was hoping you’d join me in lighting the first night’s candle." She finally finds the ancient lighter Joker lent her and flicks it to make sure it works. "Just…" she realizes she’s never done this with another person before, never wanted them to help more than with the prayer. "Cover my hand with yours, I’ll do everything else. EDI, dim lights to 30%."

"As you wish, Siha." He watches intently as the cabin dims and she lights the middle candle. He lightly settles his hand on hers. Warmth, strength, faith; he’s felt all these in her before, but never so near the surface.

Shepard picks up the _shamas_ and begins to sing the prayer. Thane’s translators don’t catch any of it, but he understands every word.


End file.
